Pitfalls of the Palantir

Inglor and Haleth were several weeks out of Rivendell, travelling towards Moria. Elrohir had learned that the dwarves had drained the pool that had been made by the blocked stream of Gate Stream and were now attempting to rebuild Durin's Door. A large company had been camped outside of the Gates for several months. The rumour was that more were coming from both the Lonely Mountain and the Ered Luin.

They arrived at the western doors of Moria in the middle of the morning. The gate stream bubbled and flowed in its bed, once more clean and free of corruption. If the dwarves were surprised to see them, they gave no sign of it. The elf and the woman were led to Frar, who welcomed them politely. Surprisingly, Inglor was very well versed in the etiquette of dwarves. Haleth guessed that he must have studied it during their stay in Rivendell.

After many introductions, bows and at your services, they were ushered to the tent that served as Frar's office. The place looked like a library after a windstorm. Every available flat surface was covered in plans and drawings. Notes were stacked in careful piles on the floor. Frar swept the parchments from one table and invited his guests to be seated while he ordered food and beer to be brought to them. A dwarf in a deep blue hood immediately scooped up the discarded parchment and started a new pile on the floor.

Inglor folded himself into the chair, his knees almost to his ears. Haleth faired a little better. It was pleasant to have her feet flat on the floor rather than swinging in the empty air.

The elf and dwarf exchanged pleasantries. Haleth began to worry that they would spend the next weeks with polite nothings when Frar, who was far quicker than he let on, dismissed his assistants.

"You came for the palantir," he said when others were gone.

Dwarves were known for being blunt on occasion, but this was exceptional.

"Yes," Inglor shifted in his chair.

"It's gone," Frar said. "I sent it to Thorin, King Under Mountain.

"Guarded, of course," he said at their facial expressions. "It was causing too much trouble here with the lads. Far too distracting."

"What, exactly, were they watching? Do you know?" the question popped out before Haleth could stop it.

Frar looked uncomfortable. "Nothing," he said quickly.

"How could nothing be distracting?" Haleth wondered.

The dwarf grunted and looked to Inglor for help.

"I do not believe our host wishes to discuss this," Inglor said, unexpectedly.

Frar aimed a pinched, grateful smile in the elf's direction.

Haleth's jaw dropped open in surprise. Inglor, who never picked up on any of the nuances of human communication, could apparently read those of dwarves with perfect ease. Was it possible that he was not as naive as he behaved?

"Thank-you for your time," Inglor said, prying himself out of the chair. "We're off to visit the King Under Mountain. Come along, Haleth."

Too surprised to argue, she followed.


Haleth's shock at being issued orders by Inglor had worn off by the mid-afternoon. They were climbing towards the Pass of Caradhras, passing through an alpine meadow filled with wildflowers. A cold wind blew from the snow-covered mountain tops, chilling her despite of the warmth of the sun.

"Why didn't you let Frar anwer the question?" she demanded at Inglor's back as she led her horse up the steep mountain trail.

"Answering the question would have embarassed him," Inglor said over his shoulder. "It is not wise to embarass a dwarf. They have very long memories and such things rankle."

It occurred to Haleth that Inglor had never worried about embarrassing her. Maybe he felt she did not have much of a memory, or that it simply did not matter. She felt a strong urge to throw something hard and sharp at the back of his unsuspecting head.

"Calm, calm," she whispered a chant from the Book of Calming Thoughts through clenched teeth. "I am a calm, sheltered oasis in a storm. The storm shall pass and I shall not be drawn into it."

"But it could have been important," she said when they stopped on a wide ledge to rest the horses.

"It was no concern of ours," Inglor was sitting on a rock, the wind playfully tossing his golden hair.

"How can you be so sure of that?" she asked without much conviction.

"Trust me," he flashed his lethal grin at her.

She glared at him doubtfully and let the subject drop. She was too busy reciting the Second Chant from the Book of Calm to continue to argue.

"Which way shall we take once we're over the pass?" she asked. "Through Mirkwood or around the Grey Mountains?"

"We should take the northern route," he replied.

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"Yes," he answered calmly.

"Why?"

"Because it is likely the way that the dwarves went."

"It's also twice as long," she pointed out. "Besides, I don't think we really want to catch up with the dwarves in the wild and demand the palantir. They would be understandably reluctant to part with it in an equitable, reasonable and mutually satisfying manner."

Inglor looked at her quizzically, his head cocked slightly to one side.

"They wouldn't just give it to us without a fight," she translated. "Even you are no match for a group of determined dwarves."

"I know what you meant," he said lightly. "I just wondered when you started using such formal language. You're beginning to sound like an elf."

Haleth's mouth opened in unvoiced protest and then closed. Her lips twisted into an ironic grin.

"I see no reason for me to sit here and allow you to insult me," she said, rising to her feet. "When I can walk and be insulted. Let's go."



It took them three days to traverse the pass of Caradhas.

Haleth thought she saw one of the great eagles, high above them. She mentioned it to Inglor. He gazed skywards, his eyes shielded against the sun by his long, delicate hands, but he had not said anything of it.

Wilderland was far less adventurous than Haleth had remembered it. They had been travelling for weeks and had only heard the lonely howl of wolves twice, far in the distance. The Misty Mountains and their foothills loomed behind them. The green plains of Wilderland stretched away to the east and the great river Anduin glittered, a blue-grey ribbon under the summer sun. Beyond it, Mirkwood was a hint of darkness on the very edges of sight.

A long abandoned thought surfaced in Haleth's mind. Inglor had never actually explained why he had chosed to go around the forest instead of through it. The elves of Mirkwood were not of the same folk as those of Rivendell, but that should not be a factor in the decision. She decided to try to get some sort of answer from him. A straight answer was undoubtedly beyound her capabilities to extract. A few hints might give her something to ponder, though.

"Inglor," she asked as they rode along the gently sloping grasslands, side by side. "Why are we not going through Mirkwood? The elves would undoubtedly welcome us."

He did not answer right away. Haleth was beginning to think that he would simply ignore her question when he began to speak.

"The source of the darkness has been cleansed from the forest," he said slowly. "But there are still some areas where it lies heavy on the woods. It is too dangerous."

"Dangerous?" she looked at him, incredulous. "Since when has that ever factored into the equation? I'll have you know that I was going into far more dangerous situations before I met you. I don't need your protection."

"Haleth," Inglor reined in his horse. Her mare pulled a few strides ahead before she could turn her head and walk back towards the other. The rant had been delivered as a banter, but Inglor was beginning to recognise this tone as a precursor to an enormous rage. Haleth's lips wore a thin smile that did not reach her eyes.

"Haleth," he repeated, "I never said that you could not look to yourself. Our business is with the palantir. If we went into the forest, it would be far too easy to become distracted by helping Thranduil's people cleanse the wood. If you truly wish, we can return there after we have delivered the palantir to its rightful owner."

It made sense, but there was something odd in his expression. With a shock, she recognised it as worry. What could possibly be worrying him? Did he think she would ride off to Mirkwood without him, intent on an adventure of her own? There was no point; he would only follow her.

"Very well," she agreed after a long pause. "We'll go your way. But I still don't fully understand why."

"Good," he was relieved. They started their horses again.

"Good that we're going your way or good that I don't understand?" she asked, her eyes narrowing.

"Do you know any songs?" he asked.

The question was so unexpected that Haleth nearly fell off of her horse.

"I know parts of many of the elven songs," she answered truthfully. "But I cannot sing them properly."

"What about a human song?" he said.

Haleth considered. Most of the songs she knew were not fit for mixed company. Having to explain some of the more colourful euphemisms to Inglor was not at all appealing. Somewhere in the dim reaches of her memory were the songs she had sung as a child. Even better, though, were the songs she had sung with her compatriots when she had been a bit older, after her world had begun to unravel.

"Inglor," she asked. "Do elves use songs to make fun of people or situations they are not fond of?"

"No," he said slowly, as if the concept was entirely novel to him.

"Humans do," she said brightly. "Let me sing an example for you."

She launched into what had been, at one time, a wickedly satirical song which questioned the intelligence, actions and parentage of a long dead noble. Her voice rose and fell in long forgotten cadences which had not been heard in Middle Earth for over an age. It seemed that the voices of her friends, forever gone except in memory, joined her.

When she had finished, she glanced at Inglor and immediately became concerned. His eyes were as wide as saucers and his mouth hung slightly open with pure astonistment.

"Oh come now," Haleth laughed. "My voice isn't that bad! Besides, you asked."

Inglor forced his mouth closed.

"I never said that it was," he said quietly. "It's just that...the song. I've never heard anything like it."

"Human music is that different from elvish music?" she smiled.

"Not at all," he was incredibly distracted, almost awestruck. "It's difficult to explain. It's...new."

"No," Haleth corrected him. "It's quite old by the human way of reckoning."

"That's not what I meant," Inglor rubbed his face, his voice was distant. "It has been a very, very long time since I've experienced anything that I haven't seen or heard thousands of times before. I did not think there was anything left that I had not encountered."

Haleth had known, on an intellectual level, that this must be the case. She had not truly appreciated how it would affect the way an elf saw the world. Or how finding something new could become an earth-shattering experience. She was beginning to worry about Inglor's reaction when he threw back his head and laughed. It was the blended music of bells and a reflection of pure delight. Haleth found herself laughing along with him.

"Do you know any more songs like that last one?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"More than I like to admit," Haleth answered.

"Could you sing them for me?"

"I'll do what I can," she said. "Under one condition."

"What?" he suddenly looked serious.

"You have to join in the chorus, once you know the words," she said. "These aren't meant to be done as solos."